


Bitter Winds Howl

by loki_silvertongue (TheOriginalSilvertongue)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Culture, An Unexpected Journey, Complete, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötnar, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-07 13:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOriginalSilvertongue/pseuds/loki_silvertongue
Summary: After a battle with Odin in which all but Loki were slain, Loki returns to Jotunheim with Kyrmir's body to try to find anyone there who might know him and who could show Loki the Jotnar way to honor their dead. Kyrmir and Loki were lovers and it was Kyrmir who taught Loki much of what he knows about Jotnar culture and language, though it isn't nearly enough.This work is complete. 3/3 chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **  
>  **   
>  [Some reading music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_eOmvM-4zc)   
> 

He went alone with Kyrmir’s body to Jotunheim. There had been arguments from several advisers and from Heimdall himself at the Observatory. The Gatekeeper had a point, but Loki wasn’t listening. He just wanted the howl of the cold Jotun wind and the solitude of the icy realm. His burden was heavy enough without having to put on a show for any who might accompany him. He would have better luck finding and contacting those who might know Kyrmir on his own rather than with what would no doubt be considering a raiding party from Asgard. It was not Loki’s intent to renew the war between Asgard and Jotunheim, but not taking Kyrmir home was not an option he was willing to consider. He had to go.

It was not the most dignified of processions as Loki made his way to the remains of Utgard, one of the few remaining inhabited areas of Jotunheim. He did not know if he would find any of Laufey’s former army there or not, but he had to start somewhere. Kyrmir was wrapped in the finest gold-threaded fabric and bundled in furs atop a sled similar to the skimmers Asgard used for transport, but much smaller. Silvertongue shifted into his Jotun form immediately upon arrival. For once, he didn’t want to be an Aesir, not for this. Kyrmir was Jotnar, this was his home. It was Loki’s home too, in the sense that he was born here on this dark, icy ball, but it still felt alien to him. 

 

 

The weather did not disappoint. It was bitterly cold. The wind cut through his clothing, but in his native form, Loki barely noticed it. It was more the flapping of the fabric and the puffs of his own breath that told him of his surroundings than any discomfort. Jotunheim was vast and barren, dim beneath the weak light of its star, colors all blending into a blue-tinged array of grays and whites. Against it all, the gold of the Asgardian sled and the green of Loki’s cloak stood out as beacons. He was hoping to be spotted, but not ambushed. It was a risk. Strangers were generally unwelcome on Jotunheim in his experience, which was admittedly limited. Kyrmir had spoken more of his life there and it seemed, like many isolated cultures, xenophobia had developed. Jotunheim had no notable tech, their power lost when they lost the Casket of Ancient Winters to Odin around the time of Loki’s birth. In a thousand years, they still had not recovered. 

Trying to recall everything he’d heard and read about Jotunheim in order to keep both of them safe, Loki navigated the treacherous terrain slowly. They were not far from the ruined Jotnar city, but Loki had no way of knowing whether or not it remained inhabited or to what degree. The last time he’d been here had been to lure Laufey to his death. The meeting had been brief, no sightseeing tour provided. Nor had Loki been interested at the time, just as he was not now. He only wished he had a better idea of how to reach someone who might be connected to Kyrmir. 

News did not travel from Jotunheim unless one went looking for it. Laufey’s death would have undoubtedly created a power vacuum. Loki had no idea who had filled that vacancy. He had no idea if Laufey had other offspring or where they might fall in the birth order. Silvertongue had no contact with them if they even existed. He assumed someone with some claim to the throne would make a play for it. Someone either with more distant royal blood or simply with the might to seize it. Many a great dynasty was started not by divine right to rule granted by superior bloodlines, but by the old smash and grab. He who could take and keep a throne created his own right to rule. 

 

 

It wasn’t a throne Loki wanted. This dim, dirty iceball was about the last place in the Nine Realms he wanted to be, let alone stay and rule. He was on Jotunheim for one purpose only: to see that Kyrmir got home and was accorded the dignity and respect he merited. If anyone had told Loki just a decade ago that he would feel such a way about a frost giant, he would have laughed and probably stabbed them for the insult. 

A lot could change in ten years.

Since then, Loki had discovered that he was a Jotun, not the Aesir he’d always believed. He hadn’t taken the news well. It wasn’t until he met Kyrmir that he started accepting that part of himself. Kyrmir had taught him much about the Jotnar race but there was still so much Loki didn’t know. He wiped at his eyes, shoving down regret that there would be no more stories of Kyrmir’s warband under Laufey’s rule. No more tales of his search for Loki or the prophecy that drove that quest. No more language lessons with Kyrmir laughing at Loki’s poor pronunciation or mangled syntax. His Jotnar was not so good, and he wasn’t quite sure how he was going to communicate when and if he found anyone on Jotunheim but he would make do somehow. If he had to draw pictures in the snow, Loki would do it. This was important. 

As night fell, and no contact was made, Loki moved on to his secondary plan. Simply wandering around the outskirts of the city hadn’t drawn any attention, which did not bode well for there being a great population nearby. Some things on Jotunheim were more obvious than others though. A fire was one such thing. From Kyrmir’s telling, the Jotnar were not unfamiliar with fire, but hadn’t much use for it. It was a good thing because there wasn’t much on Jotunheim to burn. Loki had planned ahead and brought firewood with him, bundled onto the sled with Kyrmir’s body.

 

 

Uncertain whether any of the remaining structures of the city were safe and defensible, Loki fell back to a very old strategy: keep the mountain at your back. Jotunheim was full of caves, some in the stone of the mountains themselves, others merely in the ice. It was one of the former, rather than the latter, Loki sought for the night. With the stone of a cliff or mountain face behind him, an ambush from that direction was unlikely. Not impossible, but unlikely enough that it could generally be considered safe on Jotunheim. To his knowledge, the realm had never been home to rock trolls or other creatures who might be an exception to the rule.

It took far too long to find something suitable and Loki was relieved when a suitable spot finally revealed itself. The opening of cave was wide enough that Loki could bring the entire sled in. That was an absolute necessity. He was not leaving Kyrmir’s body outside all night. Barren though it was, Jotunheim was not without carrion feeders and other things that might be drawn out in the dark. Loki arranged the sled at the back of the shallow cave, backing it in until the narrowing of the walls made it impossible to go further with the sled. 

Closer to the mouth of the cave, Loki built his fire. The wood from the sled was dry, and it only took a moment to summon a spark to ignite it. The brisk winds of the arctic realm swirled at the cave entrance, creating a draft that pulled the smoke from the fire out, dispersing it. Loki was counting on that. If there were frost giants downwind, they would no doubt smell the smoke and wonder at its source. With very little flammable material, wildfires were not something that occurred on Jotunheim. The scent of smoke had to be intentional. Whether it boded good or ill, they would have to come and see. 

That was the plan. 

How long it would take, Loki didn’t know. He was prepared for an immediate response, but didn’t think it likely. It was as dangerous to approach an unknown foe at night as it was to be approached. If anything, they would wait until first light, he hoped. Still, he did not intend to sleep. Once the fire blazed strongly, Silvertongue laid out his wards. First, he cast a rune to lay upon the perimeter surrounding the mouth of the cave. Like the tiny vibrations in a spider’s web that alerted it to the presence of prey, the seiðr would tell Loki if any crossed the threshold. 

Closer into the cave’s entrance, he cast another ward, this one more powerful. It was a protective rune, a shield of sorts as well as an illusion. The fire would still be visible, but neither he nor the sled would appear as themselves. It was a fairly simple thing to melt into the shadows of the cave, making the fire look like a beacon of sorts, rather than a campfire. The last bit of magic was used to disguise his own tracks. Any comers would not know if they faced a single creature or a group with no tracks to show them the look of their quarry. It would work with the darkness to allow Loki to make contact with them at the time of his choosing rather than theirs. 

Control was the better part of strategy, always. If one could keep control of a situation and slant it to their advantage, half the battle was already won. This wasn’t battle, hopefully, but the principle was the same and Loki was cautious both by nature and by habit. He had precious cargo and a solemn duty to carry out. Kyrmir’s honor would not be served with foolhardy risk or impatience. Asgard could wait for his announcement; Thor and Fandral would still be dead upon his return. That wasn’t changing. 

Keeping to the back of the cave, Loki took out a few of the supplies he’d brought. He didn’t bring much. He could go for weeks without food or water and although it wasn’t comfortable, it wouldn’t kill him. Still, the comfort of a meal, even in such company, was welcome in this alien realm. Loki tried to feel some kind of kinship to it, some kind of recognition, but there was nothing. The wind did not sing to him; the cold did not fill him with an undeniable sense of rightness. He felt much the same as he had upon his previous visits to Jotunheim. It was hostile territory, both physically and emotionally. Chewing on some dried fruit, Silvertongue idly wondered how he might be different if he’d grown up here instead of in Asgard. He supposed everything would be different. Would he have felt like he belonged here? He certainly didn’t feel that now, despite remaining in his Jotun form. It was more a necessity to bear the conditions than any sort of homage to the realm of his birth.

“I used to dream of coming here with you, but this was not how I envisioned it at all,” Loki remarked to Kyrmir, one hand gripping into the thick furs that wrapped his body. They were unnecessary, of course. A Jotun did not require protection from the cold, especially not a dead one. They were gifts, signs of respect and Loki intended to bury Kyrmir with them as grave goods. The pelts were from animals he’d killed himself in days long past, when he and Thor used to go hunting for sport as young men. It was always a contest who could find and slay the bigger game, the tougher and wilier beast. While Thor was an excellent hunter, Loki was a cunning trapper. They each had their ways of doing things and in the end, Loki realized they’d fared about equally well. Thor got larger game, but Loki was far more successful trapping smaller creatures with beautiful pelts. A dire ice-bear pelt was impressive, but not the most attractive thing to wear. Mink and otters, on the other hand, weren’t fierce, but smart and fast, their fur plush and soft to the touch. Perhaps Loki had been too interested in the hedonistic aspects of his hunting and not enough with the honor, but he never felt that being able to outwit and kill a beast spoke that highly of his ability. Or Thor’s, for that matter. Still, Asgard viewed it as such and so Loki had partaken as expected. Frigga had always liked the winter mink pelts, white tipped with black, to decorate her heavy ceremonial robes. Even now, Loki suspected there were some in her closet still, bearing the ornament of his skill. 

“We would come to Jotunheim and you would show me where you’d grown up, tell me stories of when you were a boy. You’d take me to places you used to play. I’d get to see where you came from. This place-” Loki waved a gloved hand at the opening of the cave, past which fat snowflakes hurried in the bullying push of the wind. “This place has no good meaning to me, save that it gave me you. I have so much ill associated with this realm, Kyrmir.” Loki dropped his arm with a sigh, pausing a moment before fishing out more dried fruit. He chewed it thoughtfully, fully aware he was carrying on a one-sided conversation with a corpse. He hoped that there was some part of Kyrmir that lingered nearby, tied to his body until he was properly put to rest. That way Kyrmir could maybe hear his words, know his feelings and his thoughts he’d never gotten the chance to express.

“I never wanted to be what I am. Perhaps I still do not, but you brought me closer to it than I would have otherwise managed on my own.” To hear Kyrmir talk of life on Jotunheim made it seem less forbidding, less alien. Despite their vastly different lives, he and Loki had things in common. Frost giants were not all that different from the Aesir or any of the other races. They were born, they lived, they died. In between, they hoped for happiness and love the same as any other people did. They were not the monsters Loki had been raised to believe they were. They were not unthinking, cruel beasts, intent on nothing but warfare and destruction. They had hobbies, friends, families. They told jokes and sang songs. They were people, not demons.

Only because of Kyrmir did Loki now know this.

It tempered his rage at Odin for being deceived his whole life. It thawed the ice of his heart to allow regret to seep in for his actions with the Bifrost. Kyrmir had been on Jotunheim that day. Loki had nearly killed him and would have never known it or cared. He would have been proud of slaying the very monsters Asgard had always hated. But not now. Now, Loki wanted to find more of his people, wanted to know their ways. He wanted Kyrmir to find his way home and be honored as the warrior and loyal guardian he deserved. It was the least Loki could do considering what Kyrmir had done for him. He’d given everything in a fight that was not even his. Kyrmir could have walked away, could have stayed out of what was essentially a family squabble in the Asgardian royal house. It would have benefited Jotunheim for him to do so. Splintered, the House of Odin would have been vulnerable. Kyrmir could have returned to his people and given them the news of Odin’s madness, of the princes’ absence. He might be sitting on the throne of Asgard right now with all that he’d known, if he’d chosen to leverage that information. 

Loki couldn’t say with absolute certainty he wouldn’t have done so in Kyrmir’s place.

Instead, Kyrmir now laid bound upon what might end up being his bier. If Loki could not locate any who could lead him to Kyrmir’s people, he’d resolved he would cremate Kyrmir’s body in the Asgardian fashion and send his spirit to the stars in the sparks of his funeral pyre. It would perhaps not be the traditional way of the Jotnar, but it was better than nothing. Still, Loki hoped for more. He did not want to leave Kyrmir’s name as no more than a memory and a scorch mark upon the ice of a distant realm. He deserved better than that, not only for what he’d done for Loki, but for what he’d done for Jotunheim. 

“You looked for me for so long,” Loki managed in a choked voice, red eyes blurring with tears that threatened to turn to ice, dropping like shards of glass from his eyes upon the dark furs. “And once you found me, I could not keep you even half that time. Would that have been too much to ask? A few hundred years out of so many?” Instead, they’d had just a couple of years, most of which they’d spent, ironically enough, preparing for Kyrmir’s death, though they did not know it at the time. It was far too little, over far too quickly, but that did not diminish the depth of Loki’s feelings for all its brevity. If anything, it intensified them. He felt cheated, resentful once more that the Norns had taken something he loved from him. 

“You believed in me when no one else did, and I did not even know it. That prophecy of yours was right, though you thought I would kill Laufey for far more noble reasons than I did.” He stroked over Kyrmir’s chest, the food in his other hand forgotten as he stared into the fire. “I didn’t do it to save Jotunheim from his despotic rule. I did it for Odin.” Loki’s tone was bitter. “And look what good it did me. Look what good it did us all. I am nowhere near as noble as you hoped, but I am trying to be worthy of your faith.”

It was a recurring theme in Silvertongue’s life: the struggle to be worthy. Worthy in Odin’s eyes, worthy compared to his brother Thor, worthy in the eyes of a society that hated what he was both as a Jotun and as a sorcerer. Kyrmir had come to him with faith and somehow Loki had managed to not break it into tiny little shattered pieces ground under the heel of his boot by carelessness or more malicious intent. As hard as Silvertongue tried to gain recognition, it seemed he tried equally hard to ruin it. He was a dichotomy, a walking contradiction, infuriating even to himself at times. Kyrmir had never faltered, never once chided him for it or thought him indecisive or unreliable. He had not earned the nickname “Kyrmir the Steadfast” for no reason.

Silvertongue dug out a bottle of wine. It had frozen to the consistency of slush during their journey, but Loki drank it like that with no qualms. Slightly sweet and light, the Vanir wine was quite refreshing in this state. Loki finished off the dried fruit in his hand along with swigs of the wine, slumping down against the sled, his back to Kyrmir. “No, this is not the trip I wanted to make here with you.”

The fire crackled, sending a shower of sparks upward, its light dancing crazily on the interior of the cave. Loki looked down at one gloved hand and examined it before sliding the glove off. His hand was blue as expected, to match his face, Loki surmised. Now that his Jotun identity had been unlocked, it no longer required the touch of another frost giant to reveal Loki’s true form. All it required was either significant stress or his presence on Jotunheim, both of which Loki had in abundance. He could assume his Jotun form at will, but hadn’t done so recently. At least here he wouldn’t stand out in that regard. His clothing and appearance were still different from most frost giants. Loki was not sure why, but he was much smaller than most. Whether it was true what Odin said about him being a runt, he couldn’t say with any certainty. Loki had no reason to believe anything the Allfather said anymore. 

Loki stood out because of his ancestry as well. It had saved him during the fight on Jotunheim with Thor. The frost giant who had touched him had hesitated when seeing his markings–ancestry lines, he learned later from Kyrmir. They marked him as royalty, as the son of Laufey. It had given Loki the opportunity to slay his foe, and he’d taken it, despite the shock of watching his own skin turn blue. Silvertongue traced over the lines on his hand after pulling his other glove off. He still didn’t know if they had specific meaning of their own, or if they were merely inherited patterns. He hoped that if he managed to find other Jotnar that they would recognize Kyrmir’s ancestry lines and be able to direct Loki to his kin. Kyrmir had never mentioned any family on Jotunheim, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any.

One blue hand sunk back into the furs atop Kyrmir’s body, resting there and stroking softly as if Kyrmir was merely sleeping. 

“I hope your people have something like Valhalla.” As a Jotun, neither Kyrmir nor Loki would be welcome in the halls of Asgard’s honored dead, regardless of their contributions or sacrifices. Kyrmir had died for Asgard and Asgard didn’t care. Asgard would probably never even know. They would honor Thor, they would honor Fandral, but Loki and Kyrmir would not be celebrated. There would no doubt even be those who doubted that it was actually Odin who had killed them both, but would rather blame the frost giants. Asgard had a long history of hatred with the Jotnar and it would take more than just this to break that cycle. Loki was resigned to working behind the scenes to ensure his home recovered from their king’s madness. They would have to do without Thor, as would Loki, but at least Odin was beloved of the people. 

“You certainly belong there, _visaji, zevvi_ ,” Loki murmured the Jotun titles. The first meant beloved, the second was Kyrmir’s self-appointed title of guardian to Loki, whom he called _n’Ka vavoozi_ , or High Alpha. Loki hadn’t known what any of it meant at first. Loki wasn’t entirely fluent in Jotnar, not even close, but he knew these important words. “ _K'luw diytr_ , Kyrmir. I never told you that enough and now it’s too late.”

Loki felt too numb to cry any more, his grief more like a yoke upon his shoulders than something he could actually get ahold of and work through. It felt like the loss would just weigh him down more and more until it eventually crushed him. He laid his head down on Kyrmir’s furs, fingers still woven into them. “I was never good at goodbyes.”

The fire was still smoldering when first light arose. Loki hadn’t meant to sleep, but he’d been so bone-weary. He was disgusted with himself, but there was still a sense of relief that things were finally over with Odin. Even though the battle had not gone the way Loki wanted, the constant stress and fear of attack was now past. He didn’t want to feel any kind of relief at the expense of Thor, Fandral, and Kyrmir, but it remained nevertheless. Loki’s feelings always had been hateful traitors. 

Dawn on Jotunheim was a slow, dim thing, nothing like the colors of Midgard or the clear, golden light of Asgard. As the light grew, Loki could make out shapes in the snow outside the cave mouth. He jumped up, instantly alert and on guard. They must already know he was there, but had chosen not to strike or invade the cave. They waited patiently, it seemed, curious. That was a good sign, but Loki would have to give them more assurance before making himself visible.

 

 

He called out one of the few words he knew in Jotnar to explain what he was doing in their realm.

“ _I’rein!_ ” Gods, he hoped he was pronouncing it correctly. It meant peace. Loki didn’t know the word for friend, strangely enough. He and Kyrmir had been much more than just friends.

Heavy heartbeats passed, much too loud in the confines of the cave, before an answer came. There was a shuffling of bodies as one of the giants stepped forward. He peered into the cave, trying to determine from where the voice had come. 

“ _Noit,_ ” he told the others. Loki recognized the word and sighed with relief. They could see nothing. His illusions held.

“ _K’ekim nuivrollka_ ,” Loki attempted, telling them he brought a warrior, then realized how that might sound like a threat and added a word that came out choked. “ _Vraes. Nuivrollka vraes_.” Dead. A slain warrior. The Jotnar word carried nuances beyond simply death. It signified that Kyrmir had died honorably in battle. The Jotnar had many words for such things.

“ _I’rein_ ,” Loki repeated, more plaintive in tone this time.

There was more shuffling and low, guttural words Loki couldn’t make out. He moved on silent feet to the other side of Kyrmir as much as the cave allowed, changing his position from where his voice had previously come. If they were mounting an attack and trying to pinpoint his location within the cave, it would afford him more safety. Caves were defensible, but they could also be a trap. It was a calculated risk he’d taken.

Finally, a single voice called into the cave. Loki’s eyes widened to hear words not in Jotnar, but in Aesir, albeit heavily accented.

“You Asgard?” the voice asked. Apparently they’d heard Loki’s accent as well. He assumed they meant to ask if he was Asgardian.

“Not exactly?” Loki replied in Aesir as well. He knew it wasn’t a very good answer, but he didn’t have a better one. “I seek my friend’s warband and kin to return him home.” He tried to keep the pain out of his voice. Displaying weakness now would not be to his benefit.

“Friend?”

Loki repeated the words he’d spoken privately earlier. “ _Zevvi. Visaji_. Kyrmir was… special to me. IS special.” Silvertongue wasn’t sure if the difference in verb tense would translate with any meaning, but it meant something to him. 

There was more murmuring outside the cave. “Need seeing.”

Loki wasn’t sure what they meant. The language barrier wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was still a difficulty. “Seeing what? Seeing me?”

“Not seeing puny Aesir,” the frost giant rumbled back. “Seeing Jotun.” 

Bristling at being called puny again, Loki’s response was swift. “His NAME is KYRMIR. Do you know of him or not?”

“Not. But seeing can be knowing.” The speaker stepped closer to the cave entrance.

“Stop!” Loki commanded. The stranger heeded his warning, holding up large hands in a universal gesture.

“Bringing friend. Bringing Kyrmir?” he tried to explain. “Asgard wanting him home, yes?”

“Yes,” Loki agreed, biting his lip. He needed to make a decision. This was either going to result in him revealing both himself and Kyrmir or it was going to be a fight. They’d come too far for it to go any other way. “Fine. Back away. All back away except you. No movement from others. They stay away.” He tried to simplify his speech, uncertain how fluent this Jotun might be.

The Jotun backed away, his hands still up, until he rejoined the others. Loki assumed he explained the situation to his companions because they grunted and exchanged a few words, but eventually complied. Their large forms disappeared back into the snowy haze the day was turning into, leaving a single Jotun behind as demanded. “All away,” he confirmed, lowering his hands finally. 

Loki confirmed that for himself before dropping his illusions. Slowly, he stepped forward to show himself. The Jotun’s face registered surprise at his appearance. He wasn’t expecting to see another Jotun. 

 

 

“Not dead!” He protested, ready to turn and call for the others. 

“Wait!” It was Loki’s turn to raise his hands. “I am not Kyrmir. I am Loki. Of Asgard.” He offered a tentative smile. “I tried to tell you it was a bit complicated.”

As Loki came into the dim light, his markings became visible and the stranger reacted with a snarl. “ _Va ahh Laufey!_ ” he hissed. Of Laufey—Laufey’s son. Obviously not a supporter of Jotunheim’s former king. Kyrmir had said there were dissenters, that Laufey’s rule had been harsh. It was why Kyrmir sought Loki out in the first place, despite having served in the king’s army—or perhaps because of it.

“Abandoned at birth. Odin took me and raised me. He hid me. I didn’t know,” Loki explained hurriedly. The other Jotun looked unconvinced. Loki tried again. “Laufey is dead. I know this because **I** killed him. I lured him to Asgard, and I killed him there. I found out he was my father and I hated him. I KILLED Laufey!” Silvertongue still wasn’t sorry about it, either.

“YOU killing Laufey?” The other Jotun was incredulous. “ _Bayn luw kikere_.”

Loki didn’t recognize the last word, but the Jotun’s gesture made it obvious: small. He thought Loki couldn’t have bested Laufey in combat because he was a runt. 

“Yes, well, about that…” Loki shrugged. “I tricked him.” Not entirely honorable, but at the time honor towards frost giants was a ludicrous notion. They were animals, a means to an end. The stranger looked wary still.

“Alright,” Loki sighed, lifting his hands again. “Alright. I will show you Kyrmir. Just give me a moment.” The Jotun grunted, which Loki took as an affirmative. He turned his back to the stranger and dispelled the illusion hiding Kyrmir’s body. Tenderly, Loki untied the furs covering Kyrmir’s face and folded them back before guiding the sled forward into the light. Outside, the wind picked up and dashed a spray of snow into the cave. The crystals glittered in the dim light as they dropped, sprinkling Kyrmir with what looked like stardust to Loki. He turned the sled so his feet pointed at the back of the cave. 

“Kyrmir,” Loki said simply. His hand remained on Kyrmir’s chest, a protective gesture. He didn’t budge as the other Jotun came forward.

“K’Ylgr,” he said, tapping on his own chest.

“That’s your name? Ylgr?”

Ylgr nodded and pointed to Kyrmir. “Kyrmir,” he said, then pointed to Loki, “Loki of Asgard.” 

Loki nodded and inclined his head slightly to Ylgr in somewhat of a formal greeting. “ _Ylgr va ahh Jotunheim_.” Ylgr smiled, a somewhat terrifying sight with his pointed teeth, but Loki remained standing next to Kyrmir as he approached. Ylgr regarded Kyrmir but made no move to touch him or Loki. His eyes traced over Kyrmir’s visible ancestry lines first from the right, then he shuffled left to view from that angle also. Then he frowned, glancing up at Loki. 

“Seeing…” Ylgr floundered for the word but had nothing. Instead he placed his hands flat on his own chest and patted there. Loki understood and nodded. With nimble fingers, he untied more of the furs wrapping Kyrmir and pulled them back to reveal his chest. This also revealed that his head had been separated from his body and Loki caught a quick grimace flash over Ylgr’s face. It wasn’t a pretty death, for sure. It only took Ylgr another few seconds before he nodded and stepped back.

“Not knowing Kyrmir,” he announced. Loki’s hopes fell, a disappointed sigh leaving him audibly.

“Others seeing?” Ylgr asked. Loki supposed it was possible one of the others might know Kyrmir even if this one didn’t. 

“Yes, fine, let me bring him out.” Loki waved Ylgr back so he could drag the sled to the cave opening. It was far too small to cram a group of full size frost giants into. Outside, the snow swirled more heavily, tipping the furs with white specks. Loki left the furs open despite his urge to bundle them back up. He didn’t like Kyrmir being exposed like this, helpless, but he supposed it hardly mattered. What could they do to him now? He was already dead. The emotions weren’t logical even though Loki tried to control them with it.

“Let them come.”

Ylgr called to the rest of his group with a rumbling noise Loki had heard Kyrmir make on a couple of occasions. At the time, he’d thought it an intimate sound, but out here it seemed far less friendly. Loki remained by Kyrmir’s side as the others closed in, their towering figures almost melting into visibility out of the snow. There were five in total, including Ylgr. 

“ _K’Loki_ ,” Loki introduced himself, looking from one Jotun to the next as they made a semi-circle around him and Kyrmir. “ _Tyu zevvi, Kyrmir_.” Silvertongue nodded to Kyrmir, introducing him as well.

“ _N’ka…_ ” The word was murmured amongst the Jotnar present. They sounded surprised that Loki would consider himself an alpha, probably again due to his relatively small stature. He wasn’t sure he should reveal to them the full title Kyrmir had given him. Loki didn’t think he could communicate it well enough to explain that Kyrmir had bestowed the title upon him, not that he was claiming it himself. He also heard Laufey’s name muttered with considerably more venom. Ylgr shook his head and spoke with the others briefly, no doubt explaining what Loki had already told him. Glances over Ylgr’s shoulder at him told Loki he was being spoken of, even if his name wasn’t said out loud. They seemed to come to some kind of consensus after some foot shuffling and back and forth. Gathering around Kyrmir, the group examined him. Loki stayed silent and still, uncertain of what their reaction might be. It was possible he could fight his way out of this if necessary, but the odds were far from in his favor and there was Kyrmir’s body to consider. If he were to lose that, then this whole journey would have been pointless. 

There was another discussion, this time started by one of the other Jotnar. Loki tried to make out what they were saying, his hopes fluttering up again despite the fact that they could be discussing how they would ditch Kyrmir’s body and kill Loki to eat him later for all he knew. Their body language didn’t seem either hostile or furtive, though, so he was merely alert instead of on the active defensive. 

It was Ylgr who spoke to Loki again. Loki figured he was the only one of the group who knew any Aesir and so had become their de facto spokesman and translator. “Þjím knowing Kyrmir _nuivrollkyonr_.”

Loki felt a smile burst over his face and didn’t bother to attempt hiding it. One of the frost giants knew Kyrmir’s warband. “Really? That’s great news.” Time for the next step. “Can you tell us how to find them? _Najit Kyrmir nuivrollkyonr?_ ”

“K’Þjím,” one of the largest of the group spoke up. 

Loki understood nothing he said after that, but it looked like he was giving directions. Loki shook his head, frowning. He crouched down and drew an arrow in the snow. “Can you draw a map for me? Map?”

More discussion ensued, longer this time. Loki stood and bundled Kyrmir back up while Ylgr, Þjím, and the others talked. The debate got quite lively at one point, a Jotun whose name Loki did not know yet gesturing at him emphatically. He heard the word for ‘small’ again but refrained from rolling his eyes. They really needed to get over it. He didn’t want to have to kill one of them to prove he was not a weakling. Silvertongue was in the middle of selecting which one would make the easiest target when the group started to move away. 

“Hey wait!” he called after them. “Ylgr! You didn’t tell me how to find them!” Perhaps they had, but Loki hadn’t understood it.

Ylgr turned and beckoned to him. “You following. We going.” 

Loki’s mouth nearly dropped open in shock. “You’re going to take me there?”

Ylgr shrugged. “ _Kyrmir vraes. Unra nort. Loki n’ka. Najit nuivrollkyonr pia jokl ba’atu._ ” He beckoned again. “Come.” Ylgr didn’t wait for an answer or more questions, just turned to rejoin the others. If Loki was coming along, they expected him to keep up. He took that as a good sign even if he didn't comprehend everything Ylgr just said. He understood enough.

Leaving the fire and the cave behind, Loki grabbed hold of the sled and started after them.

[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/)  
Loki Silvertongue  
[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/)  
Blue x 2 - [Loki Silvertongue](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/) & [Kyrmir || Merc For Hire](http://www.roleplaylives.net/MercwaHeart/info/)  
[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/#TheGoldenAge)  
MSL - The Golden Age  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey continues.

  


 

Travel on Jotunheim was slow. Even for frost giants, the weather was inhospitable. They were adapted to withstand the cold, but it didn’t make the terrain any easier. Visibility was low, snow swirling more crazily around them as the winds picked up and Loki, with his much shorter stride and his cargo in tow, strained to keep up. He wasn’t tired and refused to show weakness or request a break, but the combination of the two factors slowed him down. Ahead, Ylgr, Þjím, and the others whose names Loki did not yet know trod more lightly through the frozen landscape, unencumbered by a sled or a pack. Most of them wore hardly anything, so not even cloaks flapped in the gusts, except for Loki. Despite knowing what he was, he still could not find it in himself to not dress as an Aesir might for the weather, albeit not quite as diligently. He wore a heavy cloak with a fur collar, gloves, boots and thick leathers, under which thin, silken knits lay against his skin. It was all unnecessary. The other Jotnar wore little more than modesty flaps, not even shoes. Loki had always assumed this was because they were primitive, but after seeing the things Kyrmir was capable of creating, he did not believe that to be the case. The Jotnar might have some baser instincts, but didn’t all men? No, their state of dress was merely convenience. In warm climes, people wore no more than was necessary; it was the same here on Jotunheim, only for a frost giant, this was considered temperate.

There was not much conversation during the journey, not that such a thing was possible, anyway. Ylgr was the only one of the bunch who spoke any Aesir, from what Loki could tell. His Jotnar was not exactly at the conversational level and they were not a chatty people by nature. Gruff and terse, frost giants could be quite intimidating simply due to their size and mannerisms. That was before one knew they could summon ice into deadly weapons, that their touch could burn the skin of an Aesir, or that their entire culture hated Asgard with a passion. More than a thousand years ago, Asgard had put a stop to Laufey’s plans to expand his domain into Midgard. Odin and the armies of Asgard had slain many Jotnar, fighting their way back to the very capital city Loki had arrived at. At the point of Odin’s spear, Gungnir, a surrender and ‘peace treaty’ were forced. Odin then took from them the one source of power the cold, bleak realm possessed: The Casket of Ancient Winters. Said to bear the power of Fimbulwinter, a thousand killing winters, within it, The Casket enabled the frost giants to vanquish enemy armies and conquer enemy realms.

It was within this city, Utgard, that Loki had been found by Odin as a newborn. The Allfather recognized Loki as the son of Laufey, albeit small for a giant’s offspring, and must have formed a plan in his mind immediately. How Odin recognized such a thing, he never said. Loki would not recognize his own kin, so little he still knew about the frost giants, despite Kyrmir's tutelage. He hoped these Jotuns could do better than he could, perhaps even teach him in the process. That had not always been the case, however.

At the time, more than a thousand years ago, Odin, the victorious warrior king, took his prize, an infant Loki, back to Asgard with him and raised him as an Asgardian. Neither the Allfather nor his queen, Frigga, told Loki that he was adopted or that he was not even an Aesir. He and Thor were both raised believing themselves to be blood kin. The truth came out after a fateful visit with Thor to Jotunheim which Loki had even tried to prevent from happening. Upon learning his true nature, Loki made plans to wipe all evidence of his heritage from the Nine Realms. He tricked Laufey into coming to Asgard with a promise of allowing him to murder Odin as he lay helpless in his bed, but instead it was Laufey who died that day at Loki's own hand. ‘A son of Odin’ he’d proclaimed himself before delivering the killing blow. Laufey likely never knew who Loki was, despite having dealings with him on several occasions. The only Jotun who recognized Loki from his ancestry lines, revealed by the touch of another frost giant on Jotunheim that day with Thor, Loki had also killed. Using the power of the unfettered Bifrost, it had been Loki’s intention to destroy Jotunheim utterly.

He found it ironic that he should be visiting the realm he’d sought to obliterate, seeking the help of those he considered monsters, in a form he’d never wanted to see ever again. Kyrmir had changed so much of his thinking about his race. They were not animals, not monsters. If Loki was a monster, it was by virtue of his actions, not his race. But monsters did not drag their fallen loved ones to foreign realms to see that they received a proper burial. Monsters didn’t trudge all day through blinding snow and howling winds dragging a sled along with dangerous strangers in order to ensure the name of those they’d lost was never forgotten. Monsters didn’t help strangers in their realm by taking them to where they might find those things. The monsters were all in Loki’s mind.

Shelter that night was another cave, but one to which they'd deliberately trekked. It was obvious the moment he set foot inside that this cave had long been used for habitation, despite the lack of some of what would be the usual signs in other realms. Within the embrace of the mountain, the interior of the cave was not dark from the smoke of many fires for the Jotnar had no need of it. Loki had only built his fire as a signal, not because he needed either the light or the heat of it. Because Jotunheim was such a dim planet, far from its weak companion star, the natives of that realm had adapted to low light conditions. Their red-within-red eyes allowed in significantly more photons and a wider range of wavelengths of light than either the Aesir or humans. It reached into the infrared scale, allowing them to hunt the realm's scarce game in darkness if necessary. Navigation at night was not as easy without a beacon of warmth to guide them and the black of the Jotun night was punctuated with the sounds of truly nocturnal creatures Loki expected were best avoided. 

"Morning going," Ylgr explained, but Loki had already surmised their plans. He brought Kyrmir's sled into the cave without speaking. Loki's glowering look defied any in the group to challenge him on it, but none did. They seemed much less uncomfortable traveling with a corpse than any Aesir would be. For that he was grateful. Despite his defensive demeanor, the last thing Loki wanted right now was a fight. He was no fool; he was not likely to find other help in this barren place, let alone another Jotun who knew some of his language. After taking everything from him, The Norns, with their customary cruel humor, had gifted Loki this favor. He was certain they expected thanks for it and while he _was_ thankful even, he'd be damned if he'd grant them the satisfaction of humbling him. He'd always considered them miserable bitches and apparently the dislike was mutual. 

The group fell into what felt like the ease of a practiced routine, readying to stay the night. Loki was the outsider, uncertain of his role, so he did his best to stay out of the way. When provisions were produced, Loki stepped forward to offer up one of his bottles of wine as a contribution. They hesitated in accepting.

"It's wine," Loki urged, thrusting the bottle forward again. "From Vanaheim. You drink it." The bottle looked ridiculously small compared to the Jotuns' hands, so Loki opened it, offering it once more. He didn't know the Jotnar words for either wine or drink, so he demonstrated, taking a swig. "It's good."

This seemed to convince them it was no trick. It was Þjím who reached for the bottle, his face obviously curious. Loki smiled. “A gift of thanks.” Þjím took the bottle and sniffed at it before taking a small sip of it. Loki snickered at the emotion that flickered over the giant’s face. First was confusion, then more curiosity, and finally a smile. He liked it. Þjím took another drink, bigger this time. One of the others reached for the bottle wanting to try it as well.

Ylgr passed between Loki and Þjím and pointed at the third Jotun. He was exceedingly muscular, even compared to the others in the group and reminded Loki a little bit of Thor in that. “Augþraunöng,” Ylgr stated, then pointed to another who bore heavy crests on either side of his head that nearly resembled a hat or a crown of some sort. “Gornje.” That left only the most reticent of the group unnamed. He seemed older than the others, his eyes wizened in a way Loki felt like he recognized. The blue of his skin was somewhat faded compared to the others as well, taking on more of a grayish cast in the light. Loki didn’t know if it meant he was ill or if it was merely a normal part of Jotnar aging. It seemed rude to ask. It could just be a natural variation in skin tone such as many races had and he might have had it his whole life for all Loki knew. Loki’s own skin color was similar to the others, but not identical, much in the same way the Aesir or Midgardians had their various skin tones. What was true of them could easily be true of the Jotnar as well. They all seemed to have different markings and different distinguishing features as well. Loki’s main distinction, aside from his small stature, was his full head of hair. None of the others had that, save Kyrmir. Kyrmir had also been able to grow a beard which Loki only saw on one of the others here now, the as yet unnamed final member of their group. It was a thick, wiry thing that looked nearly dangerous with icicles hanging from it. His eyebrows, equally menacing, were on a heavy ridge over narrow, dark eyes, giving him a generally dour look. 

Loki himself had never been able to grow a decent beard and had always chalked it up to youth, but then he stopped being such a youth and still no luck. Once he found out his true heritage, he assumed it had to do with being a Jotun. Kyrmir disproved that theory as did the stranger now. Again, like the Aesir and the humans, Jotnar had different patterns and amounts of hair growth. Seeing the others and how many were essentially bald, Loki counted himself lucky for his dark curls. He could forgo a beard, or cast one of illusion, if he must have one. It didn’t seem like a priority or much of a loss, even though the Warriors Three had teased him about it, along with Thor, when they’d all been younger. Loki stroked over his bare chin thoughtfully, watching the bottle get passed once again, now to Gornje.

“Hærn,” the final Jotun introduced himself, giving Ylgr an unreadable look. Loki glanced between the two, trying to tell what was being unsaid. He noticed a similarity in the markings on their faces and gestured at his own face.

“Va Ahh Laufey.” He wasn’t proud of it, but it was the only way he knew to illustrate his question of their ancestry. Loki suspected they were related. He then pointed to Ylgr and Hærn and drew a facsimile of their markings in the air with a bit of conjured witchlight. “Luw va ahh…?”

There were surprised gasps, the shattering of glass on the stone floor, and the Jotnar all retreated a couple steps. Frozen wine oozed out of the broken bottle as five pairs of red eyes stared at Loki.

Just when he’d thought he was starting to make friends.

“Harmless!” He assured them, dispelling the illusion. “See? Nothing. Just light.”

“Seiðrmaðr,” Hærn pointed at him. Loki knew the word. It was the same one the Aesir used for what he was: _magic man_. He nodded in acknowledgment.

“Yes, I am a mage. That was just a bit of harmless light, though, I swear it.” Loki held up his hands once again, trying to show he wasn’t a threat. There was murmured discussion in low, rapid Jotnar that he couldn’t make out. Glancing at the opening of the cave, Loki calculated his way out if he had to make a break for it. He wasn’t leaving without Kyrmir, though, so it would be a fight after all, perhaps. 

“I wanted to know if Hærn and Ylgr are related?” He pointed at each of them again, looking between them. “Visaji?” It was perhaps not the right word, but it was at least in the right group of concepts for family. It didn’t necessarily mean blood kin, but Loki didn’t know the specific words for father or son. He did know the word for brothers though. “Yonr?”

“Noij,” Hærn shook his head, getting the gist of the conversation. “Hærn va ahh yonn Ylgr.”

A nephew, then. That made sense of why their markings were similar, but not exact. Loki hadn’t paid much attention to Laufey’s markings before he’d killed him. Now he wished he had. Silvertongue nodded his understanding. Now for a more difficult question. “Laufey yonr?” Loki couldn’t remember the word for the verb ‘to have’. He wanted to know if Laufey had any other kin but Loki didn’t know the general word for that either. He hoped the question would be clear enough. And that he could understand the answer.

Hærn glanced over to Ylgr but his eyes shot back to Loki when he waved a hand and banished the remains of the broken wine bottle. It was a simple spell, but they seemed impressed by his magic. Loki wasn’t sure if that was because Jotunheim was so poor with magic or because they’d never seen a Jotun wield the seiðr before. They had their own sort of summoning abilities with the ice, but he’d never seen nor heard of a frost giant doing any proper magic. He was an anomaly once again. Clearly Laufey had not displayed any such ability, else they would not be so surprised by Loki’s. That likely left either his birth mother or some kind of recessive trait as the cause for his differences from the others. Possibly a combination of both. 

Loki longed to ask instead about Kyrmir’s family, but would have to wait. Maybe he could find out more about his own in the meantime. He looked to Ylgr, witchlight still glowing overhead. “Did Laufey have any other offspring?” It was possible they wouldn’t know. They hadn’t known about Loki. In an unstable, ruthless realm like Jotunheim, it was not unwise to conceal heirs to the throne. Loki suspected regicide and other dynastic murders were not uncommon. It was impressive that Laufey had ruled as long as he had. “Any other kin?”

“Sons. Helblindi and Byeleistr,” Ylgr offered warily. “Not like you.”

Loki wasn’t sure if he meant not like him referring to his size or his abilities, but he gave a short laugh. “There are none like me in any realm. These sons, where are they?”

Ylgr shrugged. “Not knowing.”

“Are they alive or dead?” Loki pressed.

“Not knowing.”

“Well you’re not much help, are you?” Loki was frustrated.

“Can leaving Asgard here,” Ylgr shrugged again. Oh, the frost giant had a dry sense of humor! Loki was actually delighted by it. 

“Pardon my temper, Ylgr,” Loki apologized, glancing over his shoulder at Kyrmir. “Your help is much appreciated.”

“Hmmff,” Ylgr replied, stoic as ever. “More wine?”

“Yes, of course.” Loki brought another bottle out from his supplies, opened it, and handed it over. He’d give them all his stores and send them more later if it got him what he came here for. Ylgr handed it back.

“Drink first.”

“Oh for the Norns’ sake!” Loki took a swig of the bottle and thrust it back at the frost giant. “If it were ensorcelled, it wouldn’t affect me anyhow and I’m not going to try something as stupid as poison since I know it is unlikely to have any effect.” The Jotnar, like the Aesir, were resistant to most contaminants, be they pathogens, parasites, or chemicals. It was part of what made them so long-lived, though Loki suspected a warlike nature somewhat balanced that out. 

The other members of the party settled in for the night around them, including Hærn, who took the bottle from Ylgr and passed it amongst them. Ylgr made no move to retire, but went to stand closer to the cave entrance to look out into the night. Loki followed him.

“Are you not sleeping?” he asked.

“I watching first.”

Loki immediately grasped his meaning. It was common for any traveling group in what could be hostile territory to leave one or more members to stand guard as the others slept. “I can watch. You rest,” he offered.

“No. I watching.”

They didn’t trust him. Well, Loki could hardly blame them. He didn’t have the language to argue his case logically, however. It took more fluent conversational skills to talk about logic and motive than it did to ask simple questions and he did not wish to start an argument when they were only partway to their destination. He knew nothing about where they were headed or about who they were meeting. If left on his own, then Loki wouldn’t even know which direction to head other than back to where he’d started. His heart sunk at that prospect. He’d already failed Kyrmir so mightily; he could not fail at this final task. Asgard could await his return for a few days. They’d already waited this long, and he was not eager to give them the news of Thor and Fandral’s deaths. 

The more he thought about it, the more Silvertongue felt it would be better coming from Odin. He was still their sovereign, not Loki. None of Asgard knew of Loki’s treachery impersonating the Allfather but Loki was unwilling to do so again. He and Odin standing together would present the strongest portrait of the House of Odin. Without either of them, there would be speculation. If Odin was not present, they might wonder what Loki had done with him. If Loki was not present, they would likely suspect him to blame for the bad news. They would never believe their beloved Allfather had murdered his own son. That was news Asgard never needed to hear. With a sigh, Loki realized how entrenched the conspiracy of silence was in the royal house, even now. To rule meant to keep secrets. It softened his scorn at Odin somewhat. It was strange to understand a thing intellectually but still have it hurt emotionally. Loki could see the wisdom and necessity of Odin’s plan to form a permanent peace with Jotunheim using its heir. In his place, Loki might have come up with the very same plan. It was insidious and audacious, and if the stolen relic had not been Loki himself, he might have been impressed.

He still had time to consider the matter, Loki reminded himself. Next to him, Ylgr rumbled and stepped forward to exit the cave to stand guard outside of it. “Asgard sleeping. I watching.”

“Alright,” Loki relented, watching the other Jotun disappear into the dark of the night outside of the cave. “May your watch be quiet,” Loki wished Ylgr in the traditional way and drew his witchlights back into the cave with him. The space within was hardly large enough for all of them stretched out, but Loki wasn’t about to leave Kyrmir outside to make room for himself. Stepping over the others who lazily shared the bottle of wine between them, Loki laid down the only place there was still room for him to do so: alongside Kyrmir. An arm wrapped around the furry bundle who had once been filled with such fire and such determination, Loki buried his face in the furs willing himself to not remember this as their last night together.

[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/)  
Loki Silvertongue  
[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/)  
Blue x 2 - [Loki Silvertongue](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/) & [Kyrmir || Merc For Hire](http://www.roleplaylives.net/MercwaHeart/info/)  
[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/#TheGoldenAge)  
MSL - The Golden Age  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyrmir goes north.

Loki dreamed of Kyrmir. Hardly surprising under the circumstances, laid out next to him, an arm wrapped over his broad chest. Kyrmir was cold, everything was cold. Jotunheim had nights that were no more clement than its days. In his Jotun form, Loki could tolerate the chill physically but the chill in his heart twisted his dreams into nightmares. Bad dreams were something to which Loki was also accustomed. His mind was no less active in sleep than it was during his waking hours, it seemed. Whether that was a general curse of cleverness or his own particular constitution, Silvertongue did not know. Perhaps a bit of both since they were not mutually exclusive.

In Loki's dreams, Kyrmir was still alive. He was on the roof of the warehouse, as so often he'd been while working on his projects, and Loki approached to speak to him. It was a familiar scene, a comforting one. So of course everything changed. The skies darkened and where thunder and lightning might have also been comforting as the harbingers of Thor, instead came sheets of fire across the scudding clouds. Whipped by the wind, tongues of flame lashed out, separating the two Jotuns. The warehouse collapsed beneath their feet, plunging Kyrmir and Loki both into a searing cauldron of a pit below. Anathema to frost giants, lava swirled in the chasm, waiting to devour them both.

In slow motion, as nightmares often were, they fell. Loki scrabbled for something to hold onto but the warehouse just crumbled away when he touched it, his desperate, gripping fingers enough to crush whatever they came in contact with. Then he came to a jarring halt, the wind punched out of him. Loki hadn't grabbed anything. Instead, he'd been snagged by a ragged jut of rusty metal, a support pole of some kind from the innards of the demolished warehouse. It took him a moment of wondering why he couldn't take a deep breath before Loki realized the metal was protruding through his body, as the sword had through Kurse's body on Svartalfheim, as it had through his own. 

Impaled, unable to move or even to scream, Loki flailed his arms out uselessly after Kyrmir, who hit the molten rock with a roar. It devoured him like a candle dropped on hot coals. Loki couldn't tear his gaze away from the horrific vision of Kyrmir bursting into flames. His skin sizzled and popped as cries of rage turned to shrieks of agony. At one point, Loki could have sworn that flames shot from Kyrmir's mouth and eyes, the sight of which he knew would haunt him. His own life probably would not be much longer, not hung on a spit above the fire to roast. It would not be as quick as Kyrmir's, but it would eventually get the job done. From tortures that mimicked this almost exactly, Loki knew death came far too late for one like him in this position.

He decided to see if he could use the ragged metal sticking through his belly to just finish the job. Surely if Loki could split his own chest open, cut himself in half, then he could fall. It was easier said than done. He had no leverage, no strength, and could hardly even wheeze in a gurgling, wet inhale. Coughing felt like being stabbed all over again. Loki had to resort to making himself bounce down on the crude blade, hoping it would have enough of an edge to work through his body. In the roiling pit below, there was still a ring of flame around where Kyrmir had fallen. Loki made that his target.

In the cave on Jotunheim, surrounded by strangers most Asgardians considered enemies, Silvertongue clung to Kyrmir's body in his sleep. It was only after his moaning and flailing calmed that the other Jotuns he'd awoken with his nightmares approached Loki. He awoke with a start to find three pairs of crimson eyes staring at him.

"Asgard?" Hærn asked, the real question implied. He was a quick study of the Aesir language but didn't yet have the vocabulary to inquire specifically after Loki's mental state. 

"It's _Loki_ and I'm fine," Loki snapped, feeling exposed. His arm was still firmly locked around Kyrmir's body, a defensive gesture now as much as it was an emotional reaction to the horror of the dream. One of the frost giants, Gornje, he thought, leaned in closer to peer into his face. Loki bared teeth at him and he pulled back again, muttering in Jotnar to the others. Loki didn't recognize the words, but when Gornje touched his own cheek below his eye, Loki released Kyrmir to do the same. He found icy tears on his own face and humiliation washed through him in a heavy wave. They'd seen him crying in his sleep like a child. No wonder they thought him weak. He _was_ weak.

More unintelligible words in Jotnar were uttered but Loki managed to pick out his own name, Kyrmir's name, and the Jotnar term for a slain warrior. Did these creatures not mourn the deaths of their comrades? Loki wondered if his show of emotion was completely alien to them. Asgard itself had the concept of Valhalla, an idyllic place for the honored dead to reside, to soothe the loss of its warriors but Loki had always been too selfish to get much succor from it. To die in battle was a good death but he couldn't help but think that living would be better.

He thought of Lady Sif, who lost her own father in battle when she was still young. Loki had tried to console her with tales of Valhalla at the time. He'd been young then, too. He'd had no experience first hand with grief so he hadn't much else to offer. Sif had not been appeased by the prospect of Valhalla any more than Loki was now. She'd cried in his arms, insisting she just wanted her father back. It had been heartbreaking for them both. Harvadr had been a good man, a good father, and a faithful Einherjar in the service of Asgard. Sif revered and adored him and his loss was devastating. Loki knew much better now what his friend had gone through and was keenly aware that while his own consoling had been woefully inadequate, there was really nothing but time that eased such pain. 

His own pain was just beginning. After Loki saw to it that Kyrmir was honored properly, he would have to return to Asgard to announce the deaths of Thor and Fandral. It was a duty he did not relish even though it would be Odin making the actual announcement. Attending the funeral of his brother and one of his closest friends would be no easy time. A Prince of Asgard was expected to do so with a stoic dignity Silvertongue wasn't certain he could muster. He couldn't even keep it together in his sleep in front of strangers, for the Norns' sake! Gornje stepped back to make way for Ylgr, who had returned from his watch. Loki wasn’t certain who had replaced him. The others brought Ylgr up to date, Loki assumed from the chatter between them.

“Sleeping with your dead in Asgard is custom?” the Jotun sounded genuinely perplexed. Loki supposed he made a strange picture, dragging a corpse along with him to distant realms and then making his bed alongside it. He knew of no other realms with customs like that either. Burial traditions varied from culture to culture on any realm, from pyres to burial to leaving the corpse for nature to subsume once more in the cycle of death and rebirth. Beliefs varied in the Nine Realms, despite Asgard’s predominance. 

“No,” Loki explained, sitting up. He was somewhat more at ease with Ylgr present. The language barrier was proving to be troublesome with the others. “We place our dead in ships and send them over the waterfalls that surround Asgard. The bodies and the ships are burned and fall into the Sea of Space that flows between the Nine Realms.”

Ylgr looked confused, so Loki continued. “Kyrmir is not of Asgard, so I brought him home instead.”

“And weeping for your dead?” The frost giant was nothing if not blunt. Loki cringed and forced himself not to wipe at his face reflexively.

“We are not supposed to,” Loki admitted, glancing back at Kyrmir. “It is our belief that those slain in battle go to Valhalla, a place of glory.” It was telling that Loki still used pronouns that indicated he considered himself of Asgard and not of Jotunheim. If anything, he was of both, or of neither truly.

“We knowing of this Valhalla,” Ylgr confirmed with a nod. Others in group joined him, muttering the word with anything but fondness. “Is war cry of Asgard. We remembering.”

Loki closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, a long sigh escaping him. Of course they would know Valhalla. How many times had they heard an attacking Asgardian yell “Valhalla, I am coming!”? Since the last attack on Jotunheim had been long ago, at least the last official one, around the time of Loki’s birth, it let Loki know that there were still those who survived that battle, who told tales of it, who might still know something about him and about Kyrmir’s family and warband. Kyrmir himself had been searching for Loki before he’d even been born, he’d said. He’d been part of the invasion, under the rule of Laufey at the time. Of course they remembered.

When Loki didn’t respond immediately, Ylgr pressed on with his questions. “You not believing?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You crying for dead frost giant. Asgard not crying for our dead.”

“I am not Asgard!” Loki snapped, looking up finally. “Look at me! Do I look like an Aesir to you?”

“Not looking or acting like Jotun.” Ylgr merely made an observation. None of the others were in the least intimidated by Loki’s flare of temper and still watched from a few steps back. 

It was an accusation Loki was accustomed to: not fitting in anywhere. He nodded. “I am trying, for Kyrmir’s sake.”

“You strange N’Ka, Loki of Asgard,” Ylgr declared, but it didn’t sound like an insult. It almost sounded fond and slightly bemused.

Loki gave a shaky laugh. “Agreed.”

Ylgr waved the others off. The gawking was adjourned. They shambled off reluctantly and settled back down for the rest of the night. 

“Thank you,” Loki said quietly when they were alone again. 

“Sleep now,” Ylgr rumbled with a nod of acknowledgment. His acceptance of Loki’s gratitude was as taciturn as the rest of them tended to be. “Tomorrow more travel.”

It was well before sundown when they met up with what remained of Kyrmir’s warband. There were only three. Cursory introductions were made. Loki was introduced to Hraðgim, Nöseng, and their leader, Výggthá. Ylgr and the others gave their regards to the new Jotnar, explaining the situation. Recognition flashed over the others’ faces when Kyrmir’s name was mentioned and Loki’s stomach gave a lurch that felt dangerously like hope. The journey thus far had been bleak; this was the first flicker that it might not be in vain. They immediately crowded around Kyrmir’s body, insisting to see him. They spent a long time poring over their long lost friend and talking quietly among themselves. It was clear how Kyrmir had died as Loki lifted back the ornate cloth covering his neck. A gruesome sight, but one that needed to be seen. Loki did not want to be suspected of having murdered Kyrmir and returning to Jotunheim to finish off what was left of his people. Being identified as the one who had slain Laufey himself could work either for or against him, depending on the audience. Since these Jotuns had helped Kyrmir on his quest to find Loki, it was a safe assumption that they were no supporters of Laufey, but it made Loki no less a murderer.

No voices rose and after a few minutes, the warband replaced the furs covering Kyrmir. It seemed his death was accepted as an honorable one. Loki didn’t know if it was out of deference to him or because the Jotnar usually shrouded their dead, but he appreciated the gesture, nevertheless. Loki only caught parts of the further conversation and realized quite keenly that there was no way he would complete his task without assistance. As Ylgr turned to depart, Loki stepped in front of him. It was the first time he’d left Kyrmir’s side the entire journey. The warband of three flanked Kyrmir’s sled, eyes alert.

“Wait. Ylgr, please. I still need you.” Silvertongue didn’t like admitting he needed anyone. “I’ll give you anything I have in exchange for your services as translator. Just until I can put Kyrmir to rest.” Glancing over his shoulder, Loki’s look beseeched the warband to intervene, but they probably had no idea what he was saying. “I’m not just leaving him here. I need to see this through.” Loki didn’t like begging, either.

Ylgr looked to his larger group, then at Kyrmir’s friends. Finally, after a moment’s more gaze at Hærn that seemed to convey as much as a conversation might have, he met Loki’s earnest face. Head tilted up at the towering giant before him, Loki stood firm, as if his small frame could actually block the Jotuns from leaving. He didn’t need them all; he just needed Ylgr and was willing to make it worth his time.

Surprisingly, it was Hærn who spoke first, stepping forward. “Asgard having more wine?”

Loki fought off a smile of relief. He had something they wanted. Now they could negotiate. Fruit couldn’t grow in the harsh climate of Jotunheim and the Jotnar were crippled in trade with other realms, dependent upon incoming visitors since they had no means by which to leave the realm on their own. In the end, Loki gave up all of his wine but he got both Ylgr and Hærn in the bargain. It was a deal with which he was quite satisfied. Loki suspected it was not only because they were related, but because Hærn seemed eager to learn more of his language. He was, perhaps, a budding statesman or hopeful traveler. Loki appreciated both and was glad to gain their further assistance. That night, they feasted on freshly caught fish from a nearby river. Hærn generously passed one of the bottles of wine around among them and Kyrmir’s compatriots explained the history of their warband. 

There had been eight of them originally, which Loki learned was a fairly average number for a small warband. It was similar to Asgard. Any fewer was a scouting party; any more than that was a squad. Three of them yet lived: Výggthá, Hraðgim, Nöseng. Four were known dead, including Kyrmir. They were all named with great reverence as Ylgr translated as best he could the circumstances of their deaths. Befþumðne, Álbláldot, and Gövemníng had all died in battle, in various places, at various times. One of their party, Lesuðma was missing. They had not heard from him in three Jotun cycles, which were considerably longer than the Aesir or human measure of a year. None had witnessed his death or heard tales of it, so they remained hopeful he was still alive.

Výggthá used a curious term when he first started explaining their numbers: he told Loki that Befþumðne, Álbláldot, and Gövemníng had unra nort, or ‘gone north’. Loki immediately asked where, thinking he could find them as well. Ylgr, with only a bit of amusement at Loki’s ignorance, explained that _north_ wasn’t a place or a direction, but a euphemism for death to the Jotnar. In a land of snow and cold, Loki thought it hardly differentiated anything. It wasn’t his place to argue with their traditions, idiomatic or not. 

The warband knew of Kyrmir’s quest to find Loki and were pleased to hear the story of him completing that quest after more than a thousand years. They had all helped him in various aspects along the way so his victory was also theirs. They also had all been present near the site Loki had unleashed the Bifrost against the realm. Wisely, he neglected to specifically mention that it was his doing. The last thing Loki needed was to anger his hosts at this point. He considered it diplomacy, not deception. Killing him for it now would accomplish nothing. It was bad enough they already knew he was the brother of Thor. Many frost giants died that day on Jotunheim when Thor arrived, the same day Loki found out what he really was. He also neglected to mention he’d killed the frost giant who revealed that himself. There was legitimate bad blood between Asgard and Jotunheim and Loki found it ironic that he was, in a way, fulfilling the same destiny now that Odin had originally intended for him. He was forging alliances, making peace. The old man’s implementation was questionable at best, but his goal was an honorable one. Loki just didn’t appreciate being the unwitting pawn in the whole game of inter-realm politics. He would never rule here, never sit on Jotunheim’s throne. It was perhaps his true birthright, but he wanted none of it. 

Silvertongue had enough insight into himself to know how it would go. He would tire of the isolation, grow resentful of what would feel like banishment. He would raise an army, he would seek to leave Jotunheim and the cycle would begin again. He would not be the one who brought a permanent peace, not if he was forced to occupy a realm that he hated. After having the throne of Asgard beneath him, no mere throne of ice would do. His ambition coupled with his need to prove himself worthy had always been Loki’s weakness. But it hardly mattered now. The bright beacon by which Loki had always found himself lacking was snuffed out. Thor was gone. Loki had nothing to prove to Odin anymore, he told himself, but deep down he knew he still felt the urge. Even if he was the last surviving son of Asgard, and no son of Asgard at all in truth, he wanted that acceptance; he wanted to be loved.

Kyrmir had given him that in an unlikely meeting. Loki spoke of how Kyrmir had been a teacher to him, of his loyalty and his ingenuity. Mostly, he stressed Kyrmir’s bravery and dedication. He had given his life in the battle against Odin to buy Thor and Loki some time against their foe. He did not say who that foe was only that he was very powerful, and that Kyrmir had fought well. Jotunheim was still at odds with Asgard and did not need to know of Asgard’s weakness. Loki also neglected to mention Thor’s death. Knowing that Asgard’s champion was gone was a temptation no one needed and in truth, Loki wasn’t sure he could keep it together if all of his losses came crashing down upon him again. It was best to focus on one task at a time. Right now, that task was to see Kyrmir honored for his sacrifice. 

“So, after the nuivrollkar unra nort,” Loki asked, needing more details about the burial customs of Jotnar warriors, “what happens then?” He glanced at Kyrmir, who was joining them in his own way, his sled not pushed aside or shunned. He was welcomed as a comrade and laid in a place of honor among them. The question was addressed to Výggthá, but any of the Jotnar present would presumably know the answer. 

Ylgr translated but then also replied. “Jokl ba'atu.” He gave the Jotnar words for it and then explained as best he could. “They joining the glacier.”

“Is this another figure of speech?” Loki wasn’t sure if it was symbolic again the same way ‘gone north’ was.

“No,” Hærn confirmed. He’d been helping translate small bits here and there and seemed quite proud of his own progress at it. Loki was not unimpressed either and gave him a slight smile. “Nuivrollkar jokl ba'atu,” Hærn continued making gestures with his hands that looked like pushing a door open. “Kyrmir going in ice.”

In a realm made up predominantly of ice, with little use for fire, joining with the ice seemed like a natural consequence of dying on Jotunheim. At these temperatures, things did not decay, they froze. Perhaps after awhile, with the cold and the wind, a body would desiccate. The ice would protect a corpse, preserve it for millennia if desired, a perfect statue.

“Where is this glacier? Is it one specific place?” Loki leaned forward, eager to know finally what it was he needed to do. 

“Are many,” Ylgr answered. “Výggthá knowing where others are. Kyrmir’von joining them.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. It was right that Kyrmir be put to rest with his fellow warriors. “I need to go there.”

Výggthá spoke up and Loki recognized a word he hadn’t expected to hear. It meant sister. Kyrmir hadn’t mentioned any family, so Loki assumed they were all dead or estranged. “Yinna?” Loki repeated in case he’d heard it wrong. “Kyrmir yinna?”

Výggthá nodded and turned to Ylgr to explain. Loki could hardly wait to hear the translation and was on the edge of his seat. It turned out that Kyrmir did indeed have a sister called Kúfn, but her whereabouts were unknown. The last she’d been seen was fleeing from the Bifrost site. Like the other of their number whose death they could not confirm, they considered her missing, not deceased. Loki hung his head, face in his hands. 

It was entirely possible he’d killed the last member of Kyrmir’s family.

“Loki?” It was Hærn again. He sounded confused or possibly concerned.

“No idea where I might find Kúfn?”

The question went around the group again. Sadly, the answer was still negative. No one had any idea where to even start looking for her other than a rumor that she’d gone to a place called Snærbiǫð, whose name translated literally to ‘snow land’. Loki groaned. It sounded like it too might be a euphemistic name for death. Even if it wasn’t, again, it hardly differentiated the area from anywhere else on Jotunheim. These naming conventions were a bane. He did not have time to search the entire planet for a missing sister who might not even be alive. He didn’t lift his head. “If you hear of her, you will give her the news of her brother’s death? I would do it myself…” 

“Vis,” Výggthá affirmed. Loki glanced up to see him nodding solemnly. Loki returned the nod. It was the best he could do under these circumstances. 

“The glacier, how far is it?” He really did not want to have to release Kyrmir into their custody and not see the ceremony through himself, but time was an issue. He could not keep the secret of Thor and Fandral’s deaths forever, and he did not fully trust Odin unsupervised in Asgard, despite the safeguards he’d put in place. The Allfather was wily and powerful and Loki would be a fool to forget that.

“Výggthá saying not far. Going in morning. Taking Kyrmir,” Ylgr assured him. Loki bristled a bit that it sounded less like an offer and more like a command but this was what he’d come for. It didn’t matter how it got achieved, just that it did. Hærn offered him the bottle of wine and Loki declined. It would be another long, sleepless night for him, he expected.

Výggthá was not mistaken. It was not far up a nearby valley to the face of a glacier that oozed between the rugged mountains on either side like a river in slow motion. He gestured to Loki to join him at the front of the group with Kyrmir. Once he reached Výggthá’s side, the giant pointed out an opening to an ice cave that Loki would have otherwise missed. He approached it, towing the sled behind him. The size of it dwarfed them all.

“What is this place called?”

Ylgr asked the question in Jotnar and replied as Loki moved forward in awe. “There is settlement on other side named Ìsskala. This Ìsskala Temple.” 

Loki’s incredulous laughter echoed on the shining curves of the entryway. “Ice-Cold Temple? You people really need to work on your naming conventions.” His laughter faded as he went deeper into the ‘temple’. It opened up into a larger space with a bridge winding up and over into chambers that were truly magnificent.

Loki circled slowly, his pace sedate and stately. The funeral procession had begun. Behind him, a surprising noise started up. Instead of a low rumbling or drumming or almost any other sound one would expect the Jotnar to make, they somehow sang with voices both haunting and clear. A chorus of them rang out as Loki stepped into the temple proper. For the first time since arriving on Jotunheim, he had chills.

Along both sides of a cathedral of ice as grand as any of gold in Asgard stood lines of warriors, upright in the ice. They stood guard over this sacred place, honored in death on their feet as they died. There must have been hundreds as Loki’s eyes scanned down the rows. He jumped as Výggthá laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Kyrmir N’Ka Vavoozi, Visaji, Nuivrollkyonr,” he intoned as the others continued the song. “Nakka. Kyrmir ouerzi e’klat jot voninahitra ouera.”

Loki nodded and handed over the tow rope of the sled with a shaking hand. He’d understood the words, Výggthá speaking simply for his benefit. They thanked Loki, acknowledged him as Kyrmir’s N’Ka, his family, his brother in arms. Kyrmir was to stay here now, in his eternal glory with his people and his fellow fallen warriors. 

Loki was selfish and his eyes burned with unshed tears. He knew the Jotnar didn’t weep over their dead but he was not truly of Jotunheim. Icy tracks started down his cheeks as the song rose. Hraðgim and Nöseng sang as they unwrapped Kyrmir with slow reverence, two pairs of hands bringing his stiff body upright as they approached a neatly carved vacant chamber alongside other occupied ones. Výggthá pointed to three in turn and named them: Befþumðne, Álbláldot, and Gövemníng had all been brought here, despite their various deaths, so they could remain together in whatever afterlife the Jotnar believed in. As they stood guard in life together, they did in death. Sealed in the ice, they would stay forever or until Jotunheim itself was destroyed. It was a noble tradition and Loki still did not want to part with Kyrmir. He stepped forward, a hand up, but Kyrmir was already in place, standing tall once more. Hraðgim and Nöseng stepped back. Výggthá beckoned Loki forward.

“Ìsskala,” Výggthá said, but Loki didn’t understand what he meant. 

Ylgr clarified quietly from behind. “Making the ice now, Loki. Holding Kyrmir always this way. Always with.”

Loki made a choked noise and nodded, frozen crystals already rimming his wet eyes. He didn’t care who saw him now. The four of them started at the bottom and sealed Kyrmir’s body into place in its niche where he could look upon the grandness of the temple and strike fear in the hearts of any who would desecrate it. He wished Thor could be here; he wished none of them were here.

“K’jhh diytra,” Loki whispered. _I loved him._

“Nvar’ra,” the warband echoed as the last musical notes faded from the ringing ice. _We know._

 

 

 

 

[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/)  
[Loki Silvertongue](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/)  
[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/)  
Blue x 2 - [Loki Silvertongue](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/) & [Kyrmir || Merc For Hire](http://www.roleplaylives.net/MercwaHeart/info/)  
[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/#TheGoldenAge)  
[MSL - The Golden Age](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/#TheGoldenAge)  


**Author's Note:**

> You can come check out the roleplay arc in action at:
> 
> <http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/>
> 
>  
> 
> Some images sourced from Google images and MCU wiki. They are merely meant as illustrations for the story and the author is not claiming to have created them.
> 
> Edits of mine are signed with my rune.
> 
> The Jotnar language is being created by me and another author. The reason the 'All-Speak' does not work to translate between what I am called 'Aesir' (the native language of Asgard) and Jotnar (native language of Jotunheim) is because the All-Speak was designed to translate between civilized languages and the Asgardian(s) who created it considered the Jotnar uncivilized, mere dumb animals. There is evidence of this type of thinking in the MCU, so I decided to run with it on this head canon.
> 
> This section is now complete but it is part of a larger story arc. The next in this series is ["You Cannot Bury A Broken Heart"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13664325). Yeah, it's real cheery, too. Sorry.


End file.
